


Beatle Ficlets

by HeyJudeKitten



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ficlet, Funny, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Short Story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-10-05 04:15:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10297280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyJudeKitten/pseuds/HeyJudeKitten
Summary: A slowly growing collection of small Beatle stories





	1. Icy Water

“John,” Brian said “go wake Paul, we're leaving in an hour and a half.”

  
“Do I have to?” John whined

  
“Yes, he’s already going to be angry we let him sleep this late.”  
“Fine,” John said getting up off the couch with a mischievous grin “But I'm doing it my way.”

  
•

  
“Oh Paulie!” John sang quietly “it’s time to wake up.” and with that he dumped the whole glass of water he was holding over Paul’s face.

  
“aaaahphthlethtp,” Paul spluttered as the icy water found its way into his mouth “John!!!” he shrieked “WHAT WAS THAT FOR?”

  
“We're leaving in thirty minutes,” John said walking off “be ready!” John walked back into the living room and sat down on the couch “wait for it...”

  
“WHY DIDN'T YOU WAKE ME UP EARLIER?” Paul screamed, storming in soaking wet and nearly in tears “I DON'T KNOW ABOUT YOU, BUT I CAN'T GET READY IN THIRTY MINUTES!”

  
“for goodness sake Paul, calm down,” Brian said “You have an hour and thirty minutes before we leave.”

  
“You git,” Paul said, turning to John “I’ll get you for this one.”


	2. Just like Buddy Holly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a story with the same

The only way he got through the plane ride was by letting every ridiculous loose thought fall past his lips. A steady stream of consciousness flowed from his mouth throughout takeoff. No one knew what was happening, no one knew why he wouldn't stop talking. He knew that if he stopped he would scream, the words kept the terror of flying at bay. They weren't natural. Airplanes weren't, he couldn't accept that he would be in America soon and that he was miles above land and that if a tiny thing went wrong he would die.

“Just like Buddy Holly”

  
Four words and the others knew what was happening. Of course he had to think that. Of course he had to say that. His voice was slowly sinking out of the plane and falling to the earth below.

  
“Just like Buddy Holly”

  
The sounds of people talking were slowed and warped before they could reach him. He had found a new song before he understood that they were trying to tell him something. His barrier broke and the words reversed, speeding up and spinning around his head before finding his ears and slipping into his understanding.

 

“Breathe”

 

Why did people spend all their time talking for just that one word. If he had stopped breathing he couldn't be alive for much longer. He was already dead when he set foot on that plane.

  
“Just like Buddy Holly”

  
He really should stop talking, him saying the same phrase repeatedly couldn't be healthy for his friends. Maybe he should tell them the song he found. That's all he ever did, find songs.

Everything worked that way, every painting and word and poem and idea existed, if you were clever enough and lucky enough you could find one and tame it and call it your own when truthfully they owned you, just like cats. Except for Stuart, Stuart created his paintings from nothing and wasn't controlled by them. He himself was controlled by every song and poem and drawing he was unfortunate enough to encounter in his mind, spending all his life rebelling and not realizing that he was being controlled by the rebellions he created. That's what his words and drawings were, personal rebellions.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a silly little thing I wrote a while ago. Please review and let me know if that completely sucked, I think the next one to be posted is better (:


End file.
